


What Remains

by Adarian



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8603728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adarian/pseuds/Adarian
Summary: When old wounds flare up, Trevelyan is always there for Iron Bull. After an incident in the marketplace it becomes clear he needs help for more than just his physical pain. Written for a kink-meme prompt.





	

It was always worse at night. Ferelden was quieter than Seheron and while Skyhold had a pleasant background hum throughout all hours of the day, the serenity of the evening provided no solace for those who were trying to keep themselves busy. Trevelyan had seen it a dozen times with Cullen, who wrote most of his letters to his friends and family by candlelight. Blackwall did some of his most beautiful work when he was keeping his own demons at bay. 

She had seen both men up in the middle of the night and while she could see their tiredness and their quiet suffering, she knew each would eventually calm down and find some rest before dawn.

When Iron Bull woke from a nightmare, he didn't sleep. The first time she saw it, he was screaming and tearing at the sheets, trying to find one of the knives he kept hidden around the room. He wasn't able to see her well and only when she said his name he started to catch his breath. But even when his heart stopped pounding and his breath slowed, he couldn't sleep. She would lie in his arms and he would hold her like a child might hold a beloved stuffed animal. 

By the time it grew light, he could sleep. Trevelyan would keep all the blinds open, letting the light fall across his face. She would do what she could to make sure he was supported so he wouldn't wake up in pain. 

The pain sometimes woke him up instead. The phantom tips of his finger joints, his tender ankle, the nerves behind his missing eye. Even if he was greatly injured, he could handle it. It was those soft places, the places that held the greatest meaning, those were the ones that hurt. 

Trevelyan was no healer but he wouldn't see one. He didn't like people touching him that way, which she always found funny. Within an hour of them meeting he had told her highlights of his sexual history, but he couldn't let a professional examine his hands.

It became a routine, her care of him. She would massage his hands in her own, letting the numbing cream soak into his skin. Bull would usually be naked then and she would rub the places that hurt most. It was something they had done a few times before that terrible day on the Storm Coast. After that, it was every night before they lay down together. He had lost something that helped him cope and while it was not her job to replace it, she wanted to help ease that loss.

Trevelyan came back from a late night meeting with her spymaster to find Iron Bull already asleep in their bed. He still had his patch on and was clearly waiting up for her when he finally drifted off. She slipped into her small clothes and curled up beside him. He turned over and wrapped her in his arms.

"I missed you, Kadan," he murmured, still half asleep.

She kissed his hands. "Get some rest, Bull. I'm right here."

He kissed the back of her neck. "Good."

His hands felt clammy and she asked, "Are you okay?"

He assured, "Just a bad dream. I'm fine."

Trevelyan wasn't convinced, but if he was falling asleep again, she wasn't going to push it. She closed her eyes and snuggled into him.

***

When she woke, he wasn't there. Blinking at the sunlight, she wasn't surprised. It must have been near noon and Iron Bull didn't sleep in. She looked out the window onto the courtyard and saw the merchants selling their wares to a rather large crowd. She smiled seeing how bustling Skyhold was and gave herself a moment to relax. She couldn't be doing too bad a job if there were young lovers walking hand in hand, people laughing as they sparred, Sera eating cookies on the roof top with Blackwall, the pair waving at her.

Trevelyan got dressed and went to wash up. Her day went as it often did, meetings with people she had no interest in, diplomatic strategies that did her head in, and of course, the occasionally far too easily suggested assassination. To be fair, it happened less since Leilana had found the Maker again, but still too often for the Inquisitor's personal comfort.

She was in the middle of a meeting when a page burst in, apologizing profusely.

"I'm sorry, my Lady," they apologized. "It's the Qunari."

Trevelyan dropped everything and ran with them back to the courtyard. Iron Bull was kneeling in the mud, Vivienne standing nearby, trying to calm him down. He growled at her and she stepped back.

Trevelyan approached the scene gingerly. Vivienne was trying to explain, but she ignored her, sitting in front of Bull.

"Are you okay?" She asked softly.

He looked up at her, his eye near red, cuts across his jaw. Trevelyan kept her expression as neutral as she could as she scanned the rest of him. There were a few gashes across his chest, but nothing that immediately concerned her.

"Are you okay?" She asked again.

He closed his eye and said nothing.

She asked, "Can you stand?"

Bull did so reluctantly and she saw with relief that he was relatively unharmed. She took his hand and led him back to their room over the tavern. Bull sat on the bed, still not speaking.

Trevelyan sat beside him and put her hand on his. "Are you okay?"

Bull gave the briefest shake of his head, but otherwise remained silent.

"Lie down, let me have a look at those cuts."

Bull did as she asked and she brought back warm water and a fresh cloth. She started cleaning his wounds and besides a quick wince, he said nothing.

Trevelyan was beginning to get worried, but she tried to stay calm. "I don't think anything's deep enough to get stitched up, but I'll bandage the worst of it."

"Don't bother."

She startled slightly and then sat beside him. "But you're still bleeding."

Bull murmured, "I don't need your help."

Trevelyan said softly, "I know, but I'm helping you anyways."

She leaned in to kiss his forehead but he pulled away and sat up.

"Bull-"

"I killed him. Here. It's supposed to be safe here. People put down their weapons and talk out their problems. I didn't. I didn't capture him, I killed him."

"Who?" She asked.

"Orlesian asshole. Someone made a hit on Vivienne."

"Then you saved her life," Trevelyan insisted.

"She could have handled it. I was looking for an excuse."

Trevelyan hesitated. "Bull..."

"She could have handled it," he murmured. "I got involved because I wanted to destroy him. I wanted to rip him apart."

"Because your friend was in danger," Trevelyan reminded. 

"She could have handled it," he whispered. "I'm losing it, Kadan. I got all this anger in me and I can't get rid of it. I'm going to snap and I'm going to hurt one of our guys."

"You're not-"

"I've felt this before, Kadan," Iron Bull argued. "Right before I turned myself in for reeducation. I was an animal then. All I felt was wrath, rage. I'd cry one moment and throw someone through a window the next. I can't do this again, especially not now. Not when I could hurt you." 

Trevelyan said gently, "I had an uncle from Ferelden who fought in the Rebellion. He used to be like that. He punched walls, mirrors, again and again until he bled. Then he would cry and cry until he retreated back to bed, his hands all cut up. For years, every time I saw him he had his hands bandaged."

She continued, taking his hand in hers. "In Ferelden, they call it the Tremours. In the Free Marches, battleshook. I can't imagine what you're going through, Bull, but I know that you're no monster and no animal. You're sick. Seheron made you sick."

"I know. We have a word for it too. _Asala-taar_. Reeducation fixed it. But now...I can't do this again, Kadan. What happened to your uncle?" He asked.

"He started gardening," Trevelyan said with a fond smile. "He got married a few years ago, had a little girl. It took a long time, a really long time, but he got better. His wife tells me that he still doesn't like mirrors, but he breaks a lot less of them." 

"Gardening?" Iron Bull asked skeptically.

"It doesn't have to be that," she said. "That was just what helped him. If you wanted, maybe you could talk to him. Or he might know someone else you'd feel more comfortable with."

"I don't want to talk," he growled.

"Then what do you want?" She asked.

His lip trembled and Trevelyan crawled into his lap. He held her close, enveloping her into his arms. She laid her head against his chest and he brought her under his chin. She snuggled into him and kissed his flushed skin.

"Whatever you need," she promised, "I'm always going to be here for you. I'm not going anywhere, Bull. As long as you want me, I'm here."

Eventually they parted and she bandaged him up. They lay in bed, side by side, both half dozing as they chatted. Sometimes laughing, sometimes crying. Iron Bull fell asleep first and she did the rest of her work for the day in their bedroom, having pages quietly bring her papers and ink. 

And that was what happened as the weeks went on. Iron Bull napped in the afternoons when it was bright outside and Trevelyan worked nearby, always ready in case he needed her. When the exhaustion settled, he started acting more like his usual self. And then soon he started sleeping through the night. He didn't sleep long, but his nightmares faded enough for him to get some rest.

They still continued their routines. The massaging, the afternoon naps, until one day Iron Bull asked her to go for a walk along the parapets. Trevelyan agreed and they went out to a secluded spot on the southern wall.

Once they were alone, he kissed her tenderly, cupping her face in his hands.

"You need to start going back into the field, Boss," he said softly. "Your men need you out there."

Trevelyan hesitated. There was always paperwork, but someone else could do them. She was the only one who could seal rifts.

Iron Bull promised, "I'm okay."

"I don't want to be away from you," she admitted. "I'm selfish like that."

He smiled. "Then I'll go with you."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get retriggered."

"Boss," he said, "you're my gardening."

"What?" She laughed.

Iron Bull explained sheepishly, "You help me by just existing. If I get to go out in the world and protect you, I get reminded every day of why I need to keep fighting. Your uncle screwed around in the dirt. I throw myself in front of arrows."

"That doesn't seem very healthy," she pointed out.

Iron Bull shrugged. "It is for me. We take care of each other, you and me."

She smiled softly. "That we do."

He kissed her again and everything else melted away.

**Author's Note:**

> Look Bull just needs some non-sexual loving okay?
> 
> Also look it's the PTSD equivalent I named in...I want to say "Whiter Shade of Pale?" Seriously, how is there not something in Thedas that's a word for this? My poor babies.
> 
> Edit: There is a Qunari word for it! Well at least someone has figured that out. Thank you streganona for pointing that out. This is why you don't write tired.


End file.
